


Toasty Choices

by LyrebirdArvo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal, M/M, Magic-Based Sex Protection, Open Polyamory Relationship, Outdoor Sex, Very Consensual Gangbang, Video Recording Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22660927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyrebirdArvo/pseuds/LyrebirdArvo
Summary: "The alley was dark. Cooled by autumn air that nipped with the first signs of winter. But it was far from quiet, and far from dry."(I'm tossing around another revision of Pict's story, not entirely sure on setting yet, and wanted to start that off with some wholesome fuckin', don't @ me.)
Relationships: Pict Vaughan/Sliske (Aromantic/Sexual)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Toasty Choices

The alley was dark. Cooled by autumn air that nipped with the first signs of winter. But it was far from quiet, and far from dry.

I watched him through the phone's screen, where he lay on his back, framed between jerking bodies and half-discarded clothes. Heavy breath fogged the air, formed from clipped harsh gasps that quickly dissipated, and were just as quickly replaced.

Pict’s hair splayed between the uneven grasps of several different hands vying for holds. Men clustered around him, using his body as a canvas for their pleasure, or offering themselves to his greedy hands, or to his mouth, or planting themselves between his legs and carving out rough deposits. Though we knew of Pict's alternative to physical protection, they had been given no indication either way, and the wanton abandon they expressed despite it hung in the air just as heavy as the scent.

I traced a finger across my lips, electricity coursing through my nerves and brain even as I held myself collected, and the recording steady.

I exhaled. "You're doing wonderfully, pet." 

He squeaked, pitch high and uneven under the pressure around him. I couldn't be sure if he'd properly heard me, or if he’d only caught the inflection of my voice and responded on the most instinctual of levels. 

The second, while more likely, made it no less easy to keep myself professional. My temperature was rising, and I caught his eye devouring me as I unbuttoned my thick coat. He traced my chest before he fixated lower.

I could feel what he was watching well enough, painfully taut against the fabric of my slacks.

I turned my attention to the man between his legs, and shifted a step to the side to better view the way he struggled to rut out his desire. His jaw was clamped tight, sweat beaded across his shoulders, his hips worked with wild abandon. No tact, no method, only want. A thin whine trailed from him as he released, worked through the motion, then pulled away.

I grabbed his shoulder as he stood, and jerked my chin to the phone. His eyes still glazed with sated fever, he took the position of cameraman, while I introduced myself to where he had been with long, languid, grazing strokes.

Pict's eye locked on anew as I lowered myself to the ground, patted my length against his mound, and raked a claw against one cheek. He hissed, his head snapping back. A more tantalizing noise left him, and it screamed for every predator's notion my mind could conjure.

He bucked pitifully where my member slid against his entrance, a jolt of the familiar among the touch of strangers. I traced the tip against his slit, teasing a promise for _later,_ then moved lower. His rear was already slick, lubricated with a swill of grease and enjoyment - that of others as well as his own above.

The sight was tantalizing. His back arched and his hands fluttered faster against the shafts that kept them occupied, his head rolling back as a sinful gasp escaped his white-speckled lips.

I moved slowly, pressing into his battered and well-used body with a heady exhale of satisfaction.

_So good. So, so good._

He whined again, urgent, before damp slapping and broken grunts of pleasure gagged him. I held where I was, the contractions around my length joined by the enthralling sensation from where I fastened my palm around his neck, massaging the struggle where he suppressed his reflexes. 

I felt paralyzed by choice, delicious choice. Off-beat rhythms keeping their own times, central around his flushed body that conveyed his craving through every minute movement. The sounds that escaped him, when he could. The fingers he still had working whatever they could reach, and the stubs of his cut-short knuckles struggling to join in.

I eyed the phone, the prick of light from the camera app still blazing in the overstimulating darkness, its current holder caressing himself through another wave of pleasure.

I drew my hand back from Pict’s neck and fastened it tight to one of his hips, affording the recording a wide view as I canted a more generous angle. My other hand swiped up, pulling my shirt with it, teasing my stomach and chest, and better showing off where the center of his legs gave way to my pelvis.

And I began to rock. As gradually as I could stand, I rolled from chest, to stomach, to hips, and back again. The others were quicker, driven by the time they had spent frenzying themselves, but I held the advantage of waiting, and would tease his nerves for the breadth of their worth.

My resolve held out for a time - more than I had expected - before wavering. The way his lips pulled and tugged and took them, the way he enveloped me, the feeling of proof from those he had enveloped before, the way his chest heaved and his skin quivered beneath me.

My hand left my shirt, clawed for a hold around one of his pectorals, and I let myself bark a harsher exhale as I plowed deeper. Harsher. _Mine to ruin._ Another man's head brushed my lips, and I took him like an afterthought, winding my tongue around the blunt length.

My focus didn’t waver.

He coughed as the latest entertainer of his mouth was removed, rivulets of saliva and release trailing between them and pooling in his beard. My hand left his chest and swiped against the globule, pushing it to his waiting tongue.

He took my finger, then another, bobbing with a desperate hunger as my digits reclaimed his throat.

I withdrew them as quickly as I'd asserted them, tracing spit down his throat and onto his chest, smearing it and other marks of pleasure like thick oil across a glistening pad. He made a high noise, another helpless quiver wracking his malnourished frame, struggling to form a coherent sound.

_"Please-"_

One unsteady hand left his other interests as his mouth was taken, clawing in my direction. I snatched his wrist, asserting my body to his with sharp, graceless need. His legs kicked and struggled, then clung to my waist, and struggled to keep me in as the searing jolt of release cut across my mind.

* * *

Their exits were swift, jilted, like they were caught between societal shame and properly enjoying the hindsight of thorough indulgence. They struggled back into their clothes, and their _leu_ migrated to their hands, to my hands, to Pict’s wallet, before they crept back out to the street and their existences elsewhere.

Pict still lay on the blanket that thinly separated him from concrete, his breath ragged and his expression one of exhaustion and roughly achieved bliss. He grunted as I gathered his things into a bag - several pieces torn, but none damaged worse than they'd sustained before - then slipped it across my arm.

He shifted closer as I crouched low next to him, his face plastered with a groggy smile like that on a wonderful, ridiculous tomcat. I brushed the hair from his face and drew the edges of the blanket up, wrapping it into a cocoon around him before picking up the works.

I debated on saying something biting, teasing, to rile him, but the way his face nestled in against my chest replaced the notion with a pleasant fuzz.

_What was it Wahis referred to him by?_

_A terrible ferret of a man._

I left the rest of the mess behind as I picked down the opposite end of the alley, turned the corner, and traced the quiet path back to the shop. The musty scent of old papers greeted us just the same as the cat's croak did, hidden somewhere beyond the dark stacks.

Pict shifted again as I worked the loop of the bag free from beneath him, placed it at the base of the stairs, then made my way up. He cleaned himself with several less content grumbles after I deposited him in the washroom, and stumbled past me when he left in favor of his room.

I followed, half to keep him upright and half to trace my eyes against his back. He needed no prompting to bury himself beneath the blankets. I lingered by the side, two fingers tracing the grooves on the thoroughly marked headboard.

"Do you prefer my company? Or are you finished with me for tonight?"

One blue eye glared back.

"Don't be a fucking jackass."

I struggled not to smile, then allowed myself, as I extracted myself from my outfit and added myself to the pile. He relaxed beneath me, arms wrapping around my scarred shoulders, nose nestling in against my ear the same as mine found his hair. His legs spread, leaving me room to place myself. Not assert, but to rest in closeness.

I enveloped him, and with indistinct murmurs, I let him drift off.


End file.
